An internet world that remains small

Notebook

Not so long ago I was passing what I still call the Tate Gallery,but is Tate Britain, and noted a host of brightly coloured awningson the parade ground opposite what is now part of Chelsea College ofArt. This was pleasing; the piazza is usually bare, but for a veryfew self-consciously positioned trees. Perhaps there was a market?That would be a welcome addition to the neighbourhood.

It turned out that there was a market, sort of. It was a one-offevent called Artsmart, which claimed to offer "everything you wantin a curated art and design market" as part of a promotionalprogramme linked to London's University of the Arts. This comprisessix London art colleges, and the market was intended, so the blurbsaid, to bring students, graduates, recruiters and potentialpurchasers together.

Unfortunately, Artsmart and I got off on the wrong foot. Thefirst hitch was probably hidden in the word "curated". Someone hasto do the "curating", and that someone, it stands to reason, must bepaid. Which meant that this was a market with an admission charge -a bit of a contradiction in terms. So the square was closed off,with a single entry point and a requirement to buy a ticket, at aprice - 6, as it turned out - that was nowhere advertised.

When I asked how I was supposed to know this, a couple ofpleasant, but somewhat baffled, girls objected that Artsmart hadbeen well publicised, mostly on the internet. I suggested thatvisitors to the Tate opposite, not to speak of curious localresidents, might have been interested in wandering over, but mightbe put off by the fence and the price. To shut me up, they gave me acomplimentary ticket - so thank you. I have to say, though, that mymood wasn't lightened by what I found, which was generally inferiorto what you can find at Spitalfields and the other craft marketsthat dot London on different days of the week.

And it occurred to me that this was a classic example of quite aclosed, specialist group believing that, by simply projecting itselfover the internet, probably on its own website, it is reaching thewidest possible audience. At this market, I came across almost noone who was not in some way an insider - as a student, graduate orteacher. No tourists from the Tate; no locals.

There has been much talk recently about how the internet, whileoffering unprecedented opportunities to broaden knowledge andexperience, also allows people to remain in their own little worlds.As always, though, there is a third way, illustrated here. Theinternet encourages quite exclusive groups to believe they arereaching the widest possible audience, when in fact they arespeaking only to themselves.

Bravo to an audience that gave the Italians their due

Even if you were listening on an indifferent car radio, as I wasat the start, it was apparent within five - even two - minutes, thatwe were in for an amazing, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime, experience.The choir and orchestra of the Academy of Santa Cecilia in Rome wereperforming Rossini's William Tell on the second night of the Proms.In the first interval, it was as though the presenters could notdecide whether to let loose the superlatives, or show due BBCrestraint. But the effect was grudging, as though they didn't quitewant to admit that an Italian ensemble, albeit one whose origins goback to Palestrina, were routing their international peers indiscipline, tone and touch.

The second interval offered a too-short interview with theconductor, Antonio Pappano, who has been responsible for restoringthe Academy to its present glory, and a totally discordant recordingof a trashy poem and some jazz from some Proms-related event. Sodisconcerting was this that I tested the radio reception to checkthat no pirate station was depriving me of the last two acts.Finally it was back to Rossini, and the electric atmosphere in theAlbert Hall.

Maybe it was because the professional critics had little time tomeet their deadlines, that their response seemed strangely clinical.It was left to the amateurs to tell it how it really was. Sample thecomments of those who were there from the BBC website. Try this:"What an extraordinary experience... it leaves one reeling withdelight", or this: "Despite standing for five hours, I am stillbuzzing with the sheer delight of that extraordinary event. It wasan honour and a privilege to have been there." It was a privilege tohave been listening, too.

The mystique of the apothecary is outdated

It's quite a long time since I had a prescription to take to thechemist's. I found that some things have changed, and some have not.Although most medicine now comes in neat, labelled packages, whathas not changed is the ponderous mystique that surrounds what goeson behind the counter. I was told it would take 20 minutes to"dispense" tablets that I knew came in a packet - a packet indeedthat I could clearly see on a shelf that was practically withinreach. When I asked why they couldn't just ring it up, I was toldtartly that there was a queue.

Returning 20 minutes later, I tried again. It then transpiredthat an additional reason for the time taken (something that haschanged) was the need to "enter your information in the system". Thepurpose is apparently to make it "easier next time" and "so that anymistakes can be traced back". Fine, but if this is what happens eachtime someone submits a prescription (and has their name shouted outwhen the packet is finally "dispensed"), you can well imagine thathighly personal data passes through quite a few hands, not all ofwhich may be as scrupulous as they should be. Phone hacking,contrary to current impressions, is not the only way to obtainsaleable information.

m.dejevsky@independent.co.uk